


Grace

by RedRowan



Series: Daredevil Bingo [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Background Matt/Karen, Gen, Post-Season/Series 02, Reconciliation, Roman Catholicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7764160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRowan/pseuds/RedRowan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brett calls Matt to come represent one Sister Maggie...legal name: Margaret Grace Murdock.</p>
<p>Matt has no idea how to deal with the mother who abandoned him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "grace" from my Daredevil Bingo card.
> 
> AU: professors  |  Lent  |  Nelson and Murdock  |  sai  |  human interest story   
> ---|---|---|---|---  
> wearing each other's clothes  |  conviction  |  punch-drunk  |  scars  |  In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti   
> repeat de integro / of the law as it should be  |  taken in for questioning  |  WILD   
>  ★   
> CARD  |  AU: serial killer  |  hearing loss   
> police station  |  passing the bar  |  grace  |  didn't realize they were dating  |  Foggy's Bloggy   
> AU: post-apocalyptic  |  jujutsu  |  speak of the devil  |  playing pool  |  interview   
>   
> Maggie's backstory is heavily influenced by Frank Miller's _Born Again_ arc and Mark Waid's _West-Case Scenario_ arc.

_Since we have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us exercise them; if prophecy, in proportion to the faith; if ministry, in ministering; if one is a teacher, in teaching; if one exhorts, in exhortation; if one contributes, in generosity; if one is over others, with diligence; if one does acts of mercy, with cheerfulness._ \- Romans 12:6-9

These days, Matt doesn’t usually get up before noon. There’s no office anymore, no work. Elektra’s money takes care of Matt’s needs, nowadays, so why bother? And he works late into the night, stumbling down his stairs as he can feel the temperature rising in anticipation of the new day, so he doesn’t feel guilty sleeping late into the morning.

It also means that he’s grumpy as hell when Brett Mahoney wakes him up with a phone call at 9:30 in the morning.

“Hey, you still a lawyer?”

Matt considers saying something sarcastic, but he’s too tired.

“Yeah,” he says, “I still got the card and everything.”

“We just got in a load of nuns this morning,” says Brett. “Political protest outside the Latverian embassy got a little…property damage-y.”

“Sisters,” Matt says. “Nuns are sequestered.”

“Yeah. Right. Anyway, there’s one that I think you should see. Or - talk to. You know.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“They call her Sister Maggie.” Brett sounds cautious, even if Matt can’t hear his heartbeat over the phone. “Legal name’s Margaret Murdock. Any relation?”

For a moment, the world on fire drops away, and all Matt can hear is the beating of his own heart.

“Grace,” he says.

“Yeah. Margaret Grace Murdock.” Brett pauses uncomfortably on the other end of the line. “Take it you know her?”

Matt doesn’t say, “She’s my mother.” He can’t, not to Brett, however much he likes him. This…this is between him and Grace.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s been a long time.”

“So…you wanna come down?”

Matt wants to say no. He wants to say that he wants nothing to do with the woman who abandoned him. He should say that, he should walk away. She hasn’t shown the least interest in him in almost thirty years, why should he care about her?

“I’ll be there in thirty.”

He can’t pick a suit to wear. It’s ridiculous. He owns ten suits, neatly labelled on their hangers, and he knows he looks sharp in all them (at least, Karen used to like how he looked). But he stands, lost, in front of the closet, his hand reaching first for the soft wool, then for the textured tweed. Then there are his ties, which he _knows_ all go with all of his suits, but he’s stuck between the one with the woven pattern and the smooth silk one. Dimly, he wishes Foggy were here. Foggy would at least know which tie to pick.

When he stumbles as he enters the police station, it’s not an act. He tells himself he’s distracted, he missed something on the floor, or his shoes got something slippery on them, or…

Brett’s waiting for him, gives him his arm and leads him through the station, giving him the rundown of the charges. Vandalism on the Latverian embassy (“Von Doom = mass murder” sprayed on the side of the embassy), and property damage (a broken gate). The Latverians are making it complicated, but Brett agrees that the sisters won’t be extradited.

“This is her,” Brett says, stopping in front of one of the interrogation rooms. Matt can hear the woman inside. He should recognize her, he should know her, even through the wall, he thinks, but she’s a stranger to him.

Brett opens the door, and guides Matt through with his hand on his shoulder. Grace…no, _Sister Maggie_ looks up with a swish of fabric around her shoulders, and her heart starts racing. Matt should introduce himself, but his mouth is dry. Brett smoothly guides him to a chair, and he sits down heavily.

“Uh, Sister, this is…the lawyer you requested,” says Brett, his head turning between the two of them. “I’ll…let you two talk.”

He shuts the door behind him, and the silence fills the room.

“Sister -“ starts Matt, but his voice is tiny, broken. He tries again. “Sister Maggie,” he says, his voice stronger. “My name is Matt Murdock. I’ll be representing you.” He trails off, unsure what to say.

“I know who you are,” Sister Maggie says gently. “Do - did the detective tell you about me?”

“He told me your legal name,” Matt says. “It’s why he called me. Grace.”

She nods, then tenses. “Yes,” she says. There’s a long pause. “You look so much like him.”

“Like the husband you abandoned?” he wants to snap. “Like the man who raised me when you weren’t there?”

All he can do is nod.

“I wouldn’t know,” he says.

“Of course,” she says sadly. “Matty…” He tenses at the name. Only Dad, Stick and Foggy were ever allowed to call him that. “I know you must have so many questions.” She reaches across the table and puts her hand on his arm, but he pulls back.

“You’re right,” he says sharply. “I do.” He pulls out his phone. “But now’s not the time.”

He tells himself that this is just another client, another case. He does his job. He records Sister Maggie’s version of events. He lays out her legal options.

“I’ll plead guilty,” she says with dignity. “I’m not ashamed of what I did.”

There’s nothing more he can do, so he stands to go.

“ _Are_ you ashamed?” he says.

There’s a long pause.

“Yes, Matty, I’m ashamed of what happened…with you. And I’m so sorry.” Her voice shakes, and Matt can’t take it.

“I’ll see what I can do about bail,” he snaps, and he leaves.

The next time Matt talks to Maggie is at her arraignment. Gary at the DA’s office has offered a plea deal, which Maggie has agreed to (a fine and community service), so all that are left are the rubber stamps. As they’re leaving the courthouse, Maggie puts her hand on Matt’s arm.

“Matty, if you’d like to talk -“

He stiffens and steps away from her.

“Not particularly.”

Her hand is still outstretched.

“If you ever want to,” she says, “you have my contact details.” She starts down the steps.

“Did you know? About the accident, about Dad?” he says.

“Yes.” She climbs up the stairs to him. “Your dad didn’t want me around after your accident. He thought it would…He didn’t think it was a good idea. And when he passed…” She tenses at the memory. “I was told it was best for you if I wasn’t involved.”

“Who told you? The orphanage?”

“Your teacher. The blind man.”

Matt doesn’t know why he’s still surprised by this any more. “Stick,” he says with resignation.

“Was that his name? I can’t remember.”

Matt runs his hand over his face, suddenly drained.

“I have to go,” he lies.

There’s a memory Matt has, buried deep in waves of pain and the birth of the world on fire. It’s just a voice and an outline of a crucifix, hanging over his face. The voice says his name. “This…may not be a _bad_ thing, what you could _do_ with it…Just think of it. It’s a _blessing_ , Matt.”

He hasn’t thought of it in years. Half-convinced himself that he’d imagined it, scared in the darkness. 

What if he hadn’t?

“Forgiveness, Matthew,” Father Lantom says over a latte, “is the most important gift we can give to one another.”

Matt isn’t ready to forgive.

It takes him months before he screws up the courage to call Maggie. She meets him for coffee. He starts with the easy questions.

“Have you been with the Church all this time?”

“Yes, they took me in…just after.”

“Did you stay in New York?”

“No, I moved around for the first few years. I did a lot of protesting, back then. Mostly against Bush’s foreign policy, the Iraq war…that sort of thing.”

Matt can’t bring himself to ask _the_ question. The one his entire life seems to have hinged on.

At their second coffee, a month later, he asks her if she’d visited him in the hospital.

“Yes,” she says. “Your dad didn’t want me to, but I…I had to see you. And you were in so much pain…”

“You knew, didn’t you? What happened to me. You said it was a blessing.”

She pauses. “I guessed. From what you were saying.” She takes a sip of coffee. “It is a blessing, Matty.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I know a gift from God when I see it.”

“Is that what this is? A gift?”

“Yes. And I know that you’re using that gift,” she says. Her voice is quiet but deliberate. “I know how you’re using it to help people.”

His spine straightens involuntarily as he squares himself for attack. But it’s just a coffee shop, and it’s just a fifty-something religious sister sitting across from him.

“I’m proud of you, Matty,” she says. “And I think your dad would be, too.”

He can’t think of anything to say to that.

Seasons change. Heroes and villains rise and fall. Matt loses everything, and Maggie finds him at his nadir, bleeding and feverish on the floor of Fogwell’s. She hides him in the men’s shelter she helps run. In the brief moments he has with her, he still doesn’t ask _the_ question. He couldn’t handle the answer, not now.

He’s barely recovered when he walks out of the shelter into the war zone of Hell’s Kitchen. He claws his life back, an inch at a time. He fights to win back Karen’s love and Foggy’s trust. And when he can finally stand tall again, he thinks he’s strong enough for the answer.

“Why did you leave?” he asks, sitting in the church next to Maggie. He always loved the smell of churches, old incense and burning candles.

Her breathing becomes slow and deliberate, as if she’s concentrating on it.

“To save you,” she says. 

“What?”

“To save you from me.” Matt can hear her heart hammering. “When you were born - we loved you so much, Matty, you were so beautiful. And I couldn’t believe that this perfect thing could have been made by me. And I was so scared, that I’d be a failure, that I already _was_ a failure, that I should be _happy_ , but instead all I could do was cry…and the more I thought I was the worst mother in the world, the more I thought your dad must hate me -“

“That’s - that’s postpartum depression,” Matt says.

“I know. _Now_ I know. But I didn’t think anyone could help me, so I didn’t try to find someone who could. And I got more and more paranoid, until I was convinced that you’d been sent to tear me and Jack apart, and…I nearly hurt you, Matty. And I couldn’t let that happen again.”

“So you left.”

“Yes.” They’re silent, sitting together in the church. “Can you forgive me?”

He reaches over and takes her hand.

“You were sick,” he says. “What you did - or almost did - that’s not your fault.”

“No. But it doesn’t make me any less sorry for it.”

Matt thinks for a moment.

“You had the strength to find a way out of a debilitating mental illness, and to spend a lifetime trying to make the world a better place.” He smiles. “You told me you know a gift from God when you see it.”

“A talent for shit-disturbing?” she says impishly.

“Yeah. That.”

They laugh quietly, the sound echoing in the empty church.


End file.
